


Waiting for John

by Percygranger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn Without a Smidgen of Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John likes to make Sherlock wait, but never denies himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting for John

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Sherlock BBC Kinkmeme [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/18842.html?thread=112418970#t112418970). Thanks to mugenmine for the beta.

Sherlock whimpered. John was rising and falling, his hole clenching and dragging and driving Sherlock fucking insane.

“John, John please-“ Sherlock worked John’s cock in his hands, using John’s motion to set the pace. John settled down, sitting on Sherlock’s cock, and reached back, pulling on his balls, silmultaneously pushing on a certain spot until Sherlock groaned and the tension drained from his body, his imminent orgasm prevented.

“That’s right, you did well,” John’s praise was bliss, everything Sherlock wanted, nearly better than coming would have been. John started moving again, setting a steady, maddening pace, up and down, up and down, clenching as he rose, deliberately milking Sherlock but never giving him release. They went through the same process three more times before John’s back arched and his cock spurted. “Oh… fuck,” John breathed, still impaled, sitting on Sherlock’s stomach. He reached back again, holding Sherlock’s testicles firmly as Sherlock’s hands milked the last bit of his come out.

Sherlock had behaved all night, obediently informing John of his impending orgasms, submitting meekly when they were denied. But now, he couldn’t stand it, he had to come. John had pulled himself off of Sherlock lazily, teasingly adding a few hesitations and stutters to his movement, tantalizing Sherlock with the possibilities. Now John was lying on his stomach, one arm draped across Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock watched John for several long moments, ascertaining that he was lost in his post-coital haze before he silently moved his tired hand down to touch his own slightly sticky cock. He managed three blissful pulls, controlling the rest of his body masterfully so as not to alert John, before John noticed, using his inexplicable but frighteningly accurate intuition that seemed a combination of intimate knowledge and subconscious deduction.

The strong hand that gripped his wrist made Sherlock want to groan, and curse, and fight, but he didn’t, he won’t. Grumbling sleepily, John grabbed Sherlock’s other wrist, pulling them both above Sherlock’s head, and securing them with soft cuffs to the headboard, double checking the fastenings and the fit before cuddling up again. “You should know better by now, pet. You’ll get what’s coming to you eventually.”

The emphasis on the word ‘coming’ was not lost on Sherlock. He sighed, too tired to conjure a biting response, and decided to sleep to avoid more torture.

Sherlock awoke an hour later as John sponged half-dry semen off his chest, but quickly fell back to sleep, his arms now more comfortably restrained by a short strap running underneath his buttocks.

The morning came abruptly, Sherlock moving from vague dreams to sudden awareness of the aching pleasure of a mouth on his cock. He couldn’t help groaning, half-pleasured, half-tormented.

John pulled off with a loud, wet noise, and grinned crookedly at his subject, “Good morning, sunshine, feel like an early morning blow job?”

Sherlock didn’t respond at first, sometimes John’s questions were entirely rhetorical, and he wouldn’t even wait for Sherlock to muster words before continuing his agenda, but today was a more literal day, apparently, and John stared patiently at him, awaiting an answer.

“I- Yes, please, sir?” Sherlock ventured, not completely sure of the protocol just yet, erring on the side of caution just in case John felt like being generous.

John grinned, obviously pleased, Sherlock suppressed a sigh of relief, and a shiver of excitement. “Excellent. Your job is to hold out until I say, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

John went back to sucking, and started upping his game, utilising lips and teeth and palate, his hands, and a judicious bit of deep-throating, which he was surprisingly good at, to drive Sherlock to the edge. Sherlock arched and panted, cursing sub-vocally, before begging, “Oh, please, I can’t. John!”

John pulled off before Sherlock could slip past the point of no return. Sherlock’s curses rose in volume. He pulled at his cuffs uselessly, knowing it was useless, but unable to help himself. He looked at John, who stared back patiently. Sherlock barely managed to avoid cursing at him, taking his ire out on the room and the world and his damn cuffs, instead.

“Now, now, don’t be upset. We have an agreement.”

“Yes, I know!” Sherlock spat, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it all the time.”

John responded with a short, sharp slap to Sherlock’s cock. “None of that. I almost think you don’t want to get off this morning.”

Sherlock flinched and subsided, still breathing heavily. “No, I’m sorry, John, sir. I’ll do better.”

“That’s right. There’s my boy.” John’s approving tone sent tingles down Sherlock’s spine.

“Thank you, sir.” He even managed to sound appropriately grateful, despite the fact that he was very nearly half-insane over what had happened already and the thought (the anticipation) of what would happen next.

“You’ll survive, you always do. Just hold out for me, and I’ll reward you,” John returned to tormenting Sherlock, kissing him deeply, running his hands down Sherlock’s body, stopping to pinch and rub dark nipples and a sensitive stomach, avoiding his cock. Sherlock forced himself to remain still, not lean into the touches, or whine for more. Nevertheless, John picked up on the subtle body language, or just used that damnable intuition, and went back up, tweaking and twisting tender nipples, then moving on to play with Sherlock’s balls, tantalisingly close to the most important area, but never giving it more than an occasional, ‘accidental’ brush.

Finally, bored of Sherlock’s barely-there writhing, or perhaps wanting more, John took Sherlock’s cock in hand and licked it, root to tip. Sherlock gasped and went rigid, taken by surprise and utterly turned on. “Oh please, oh please, oh please...” He set up the mantra, acknowledging its usefulness as John finally took pity, giving him regular stimulation, strokes. Teeth fastened onto his left nipple. Sherlock tried, contrary to the last, to hold out, but his poor, overstressed body gave in embarrassingly quickly. The mantra changed to “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

His ejaculation, as it usually did now, lasted much longer than John’s had last night. He rode it without shame, taking every last bit of pleasure he possibly could. Such a lovely thing, orgasm denial, he was so glad they had decided to experiment with this. The post-coital let-down made him exceedingly sleepy, and Sherlock gladly gave into it, as John released his hands from their bonds, cleaning him up again.

“Love you, even if you’re evil. You’re so good at being evil,” He mumbled, not paying attention to what he was saying.

“Love you, too, daft bugger,” John finished wiping down his lover and went in search of breakfast.


End file.
